Some of my hair has become snow hair. Do not be sad. I have not forgotten how to be happy. Purse can be extinguished, sustenance remains lit.
Like lighting a fire with snow, like putting out the fire of love with words.
Man seizes the treasure of snow, but the torch of love is always sought, so that the fire purifies my heart and burns the seeds of evil. Because the material crush kills humans, slowly without suffering, love keeps them awake, and stirring evokes the sensitivity of the soul.
